


Home is Where the Hearth Is

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [16]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Tradition - Yule Log. Pure smol Jack-based fluff.





	Home is Where the Hearth Is

“What are you doing?” Jack asks from the stair landing of the electrical room.

You hoped not to be interrupted until everything was in place, but Jack’s innocent habit of sneaking up on you no matter where you are in the bunker prevailed again. And he always has questions – so many questions to satisfy a seemingly endless curiosity about the world. At least the answer to this one is significantly less awkward than the explanation required the night he burst in on you and Castiel deeply engaged in the most intimate of pursuits behind your locked bedroom door. Jack had been so proud of picking the lock, just like Dean taught him. He stood there, beaming smile plastered across his face, staring at you and the angel tangled naked, flushed, and panting in each other’s arms and having no idea he was supposed to be bashful about the intrusion.

You peer over your shoulder and study his expectant expression. You can tell he wants to ask again what you’re doing; he practically vibrates with inquisitiveness. There are a number of truthful answers to the boy’s question: _Nothing. Possibly burning the bunker down. Finding creative new ways to piss off Dean._ You choose the one least likely to send him immediately searching for a Winchester. “Oh, I’m building a yule fire to light the darkest day of the year for us.”

“Oh?” Even this simple utterance is somehow phrased as a query.

You turn toward the hearth fashioned into the wall. The same wall Dean blew up with a grenade launcher some time ago in desperation because it contains a pipe venting to the outside surface. The wall you’ve painstakingly excavated over many months in your precious free time because if you have to live underground like animals with no windows you at least want a proper fireplace and a mantle to add some civility to the place. And a proper homey gathering place that is a research free zone. “You want to help?” It’s a silly question. Of course he wants to help, he’s doing everything he can not to jump over the railing.

“What’s a yule fire?” He moves with such speed you don’t realize he is next to you until his voice is startlingly close. “We live underground – how is this day any darker than the other days of the year?” His fingers tap the surface of the wood mantle and he picks up the holiday decorations you have sitting on the narrow ledge and turns them over in his hands to examine them. “Who is this tiny man with the white beard supposed to be?” He squats in front of the carefully stacked logs in the iron rack in the center of the hearth and leans over the stones to squint up into the converted flue. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to have a fire indoors? It’s my understanding that combustion-”

“Woah, slow down there, kiddo!” You grasp his shoulder and pull him out of the fireplace. You sit cross-legged on the floor and encourage him to mimic your action.

He settles as instructed, rapt attention fixed on you.

“A yule fire is a very special fire. On the shortest darkest day of the year it brings family together to remember everything good and bright that has happened throughout the year and light the way into the next.”

“Good things like what?”

“Like you, Jack.” You smile and reach out to ruffle his hair. “And this-” You pluck the felted St. Nick from his clutches. “-is a jolly fellow known as Santa Claus. He’s a sort of ambassador for the holiday of Christmas. He delivers presents down the chimney to all the good little boys and girls of the world on Christmas night.”

“Like me?” he asks, hopeful.

“Yes, like you.”

His cheeks tint a rosy pink. He never tires of hearing about his goodness, though he doesn’t always believe it. He also really likes presents. “I like presents,” he confirms with a goofy grin.

“And it’s a perfectly acceptable idea to have a fire inside assuming I’ve done everything correctly. I couldn’t exactly call in experts to visit our super-secret lair for a professional installation.”

“What if you didn’t do everything correctly?” He casts a wary glance at the hearth.

“Well, then maybe you should sit a little further back while I light it,” you warn and shoo him backward, “just in case.” Scrambling to your feet, you retrieve the box of long matchsticks from the mantle.

Holding his breath, Jack watches your every move.

You strike the match along the edge of the box. Sulphur hits your nose as the orange flame flares then fades to pale yellow and blue. Cupping your palm over the small spark to protect it, you nestle the match in the kindling beneath the logs. At first it smolders, thick grey smoke wafting into your face as you blow gently on the twigs until they begin to pop and crackle. Tendrils of flame lick the larger logs, igniting the peeling bark and reflecting flashes of amber and shadow on the walls of the hearth and room as the logs become fully engulfed. A steady warmth radiates out into the room to caress your skin.

“It’s beautiful.” Jack moves closer, drawn to the flickering dance of heat. The fire pops a fiery bit of ash onto the floor at his feet and a concerned furrow wrinkles his brow as he observes its fading glow. “But won’t Santa get hurt if there’s a fire burning when he brings the presents?”

You smile, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry about Santa, Jack. He’ll be okay.”

“Okay, good.” The tenseness seizing his aspect relaxes, replaced by a thoughtful smile. “Maybe we should go get Sam and Dean and Castiel so they can be in the light and remember the good things too.”

“I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” you agree. “Why don’t you go find them.”

He’s on his feet almost before the words fall from your tongue. Eager to share what he has learned, he scampers up the stairs without looking back.

You sit once more at the base of the hearth to wait, drawing your knees to your chest. You peer around the electrical room – your labor of love these last months. You can’t believe it all came together – and after the events of the past year, precisely when you and the boys needed it the most. The starkness is softened by the addition of an overstuffed couch, chair, and plush carpet. Your eyes glint over the twinkling pine tree in the corner awaiting ornaments – that’s a project you want everyone to help complete. There’s a pile of stockings stacked below its needled boughs, ready to be hung on the mantle with care – the names of Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jack embroidered on the festive plaid fabric. The only thing missing from the cozy space is –

“I’ll be damned,” Dean’s unmistakable gruff voice booms out. He stands on the landing, hands planted on his hips, chin wagging in disbelief.

“How? When-” Sam’s mouth gapes in wonder, fingers running through his hair as he takes it all in, “-when did you do all this?”

You hear Castiel’s baritone reverberating off the walls of the hall before he appears in the doorway, “I can assure you there is no fireplace in the bun-” The angel’s blue eyes fly wide, glittering in the ambient firelight.

Jack trots hot on the tails of his trench coat. “I told you!” he proclaims. “It’s a yule fire,” he adds, shooting you a knowing glance. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Still with the questions, he hops down the stairs, spinning and gesturing around the room.

 _No Jack,_ you think, happily grinning up at them all, rising to meet their open arms as they surround you in warm embraces, _it’s not wonderful – it’s perfect._

Jack shows Sam and Dean the hearth, animated as he relays the concept of a fireproof Santa to the brothers. They’re patient with him, properly awestruck given his pure enthusiasm, even Dean.

Your angel lingers at your side, winding his arm around your waist and hugging you near to press a kiss to your forehead.


End file.
